The Vampire's Favorite

by V. R. Cumming

  He shook his head slowly. “No, you haven’t, Adonis. No, you haven’t.”

  “Then what?” I flopped my hands onto the mattress, helpless in the face of his sorrow. “What else can I possibly do?”

  “You can feel me.” He brushed his lips across mine, and his mind echoed his words into me. Feel me, Adonis. Feel me. “That’s all I’m asking. I just want you to feel me again. Please, Jason. I need you.”

  I laid my hands over his, pressing them into my face. “I’m trying.”

  “No.” He blinked and a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

  “Fuck it, Eric.”

  He kissed me, cutting off my words, and his body skimmed over mine, flesh to warm flesh. I cupped one hand around the back of his head, holding him still while I explored his mouth, and gripped his firm ass with the other.

  Feel me, Adonis, he thought.

  I do, baby.

  No!

  The word ripped through me, like shark’s teeth through bone, scraping me raw. Eric jerked away from me, breaking the kiss, and his breaths panted out of his mouth. He scooted down my body and settled over my dick, and undulated his hips along its length.

  And I could feel him, every hot shift of muscle, every searing slide of his skin along mine, such lovely, sensual heat. I gasped and dug my fingers into his hips, directing his grind. “That’s good, baby. Just like that.”

  “This is what you’re missing, Jase. This is what we could have.”

  He wet his fingertips and rubbed them over the tip of my erection, and heat shot through me, so sharp and bright and brilliant, I gasped. “I know, baby.”

  Our bond zinged, full and beautiful, and I was dragged into we, into all that we’d had, every memory portrayed in vivid Technicolor, every one an endless well of desire and love and friendship. I fell through them, into them, around them, and they into me and we, and Eric’s gentle caresses became powerful pumps of his fist around my cock.

  Feel me, Jason.

  I do, baby.

  He pushed me higher and higher, skimming me along a crest of need so strong, he was my only anchor. I was weak under his touch and unashamed, and I needed him there with me, exactly where I was, as weak for me as I’d always been for him. I wrapped my hand around his erection and thumbed the slit along its tip, and what he was feeling rebounded into me and became mine. Our individual needs fed into each other, combining into a single, molten fire scorching through we, eradicating all traces of what he and I were without it. We hung on the precipice of release, me, him, us. It quavered and shifted and teased us, daring us to go higher, and we did.

  He bowed toward me and rode my hand as he jerked his grip up and down my shaft. His eyes met mine and his need poured out, bending me to his indomitable will. “Feel me, Jason. Goddamn you, feel me,” he demanded, his voice rough and guttural and thick with unshed tears and the poignant need of a lover’s heart.

  “I do, baby,” I said, and came on a white hot ball of fire that swept outward through both of us and beyond, lighting his eyes into shining beacons above me. He moaned and his cum splashed across my hand onto my chest, and a second orgasm spasmed through me, radiating out of me into him and back again.

  My vision dimmed and blurred, and the last thing I remembered was him kissing me softly and his mind whispering gently to mine, begging me to love him again.

  A thousand bumblebees buzzed around me, inside and out, stinging me with the relentless fury of disturbed instinct. I sat up in the bed, shoved the covers down, and slapped them off my thighs. Fuck, that hurt. Who the hell had let a bee’s nest into the house overnight and stirred them into a frenzy? It’s not like I could get away from the damn things. My legs were so fucking useless…

  I blinked into semi-awareness and stared down at the red handprints covering the skin along my thighs. No bees. Christ, what a nightmare.

  I flopped back on the bed and scrubbed both hands over my clammy face. My head still buzzed, loud and unfocused, and it ached like a mother. Alcohol was out. I hadn’t had a drop in months. Sex had never left me with a hangover, not even after donating a little too much blood to the cause. Maybe Eric had finally gotten tired of me and taken a sledgehammer to my head.

  Or maybe a jackhammer. I rolled over and sat up, careful not to jostle my aching brain, and planted my feet on the carpet. The buzzing shifted and swirled, and coalesced into voices. Eric’s, Pop’s. Information bled into me in quiet dribbles, the creak of the house settling, the lack of energy I usually associated with my sisters, and the eerie swoosh of wind twirling through the fields, stirring the leaves of Pop’s sugar beet crop. The aroma of freshly made coffee tickled my nose, mingling with pungent mothballs and loamy earth and a faint hint of moisture.

  Rain later, if we were lucky.

  Somebody sipped liquid, then ceramic hit wood and Pop’s gravelly tones drifted through my mind. “How’s your wife?”

  “Better.” Eric, content and relaxed. “Not hemorrhaging anymore. Marco wants us to take our time coming home, says there’s no rush now.”

  Air whooshed out of my lungs on a long sigh of relief. Thank God she was ok, but what about Willow? Had she made it through, too?

  Pop’s voice echoed my thoughts. “And the baby?”

  “Still resting safely inside Gianna’s womb.”

  “No idea what happened?”

  A chair squeaked. Sip, cup down, throat clearing. “She has special needs.”

  I nearly laughed. That was putting it mildly.

  “It’s been touch and go with her since the accident,” Eric said. “We knew there was a chance she wouldn’t make it.”

  “But you left her to come here.”

  “Jason needed his family. I couldn’t do anything more for my wife, but he still had a chance to heal.”

  “So you brought him home.”

  “Yes.”

  Sigh, sip. “You love him.”

  “You’ve known that since we arrived.”

  “I didn’t really understand it until last night. We…” Cloth rustling, chair legs scraping against linoleum. “Last night, there was this…feeling, like a tidal wave.” Cup down, sigh. “Kathy could explain it better.”

  “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “You know what it was.”

  “I have my suspicions.”

  Flesh thumped into wood. “You really love him.”

  “I do.”

  “I never really accepted that he was gay.”

  “He’s not.”

  “You know what I mean. I just didn’t want to lose my son…”

  My heart constricted into a tight knot in my chest and I cut the conversation off. All that talk about erasing lines. Pop hadn’t meant a word of it, had he? Just when I’d thought we’d gotten to the point where I could trust him not to bail on me no matter what I told him, he confessed his real feelings. He couldn’t accept me the way I’d been made, but he didn’t want to lose me either. I should’ve been grateful he still loved me enough to try.

  I snagged my chair and yanked it toward me, then leaned into it, balancing on shaky legs. Christ, I was weak. Food might help or another hour of sleep or…

  I bobbled my grip on the chair and nearly lost my balance. Sweet God in Heaven, my legs were holding my weight. The carpet tickled the soles of my feet and my knees knocked together and my muscles trembled, but I could feel. I could stand. Holy shit.

  I flopped into the chair and, without thinking, reached out to Eric through our bond. Need you.

  Coming. Bare feet slapped against hardwood, and a minute later, the door jerked open and Eric stumbled into our bedroom, Pop hot on his heels.

  “Are you ok?” Eric asked.

  “Look.” I raised one foot as high as I could and rotated it at the ankle. “What do you think?”

  Eric paled. “Jesus God, Jase. When did that happen?”

  “Woke up with my nerve endings on fire and I heard…” My gaze flicked to Pop and away.
“I heard enough to know you were still here, so I thought I’d get ready and maybe eat, and the next thing I know, boom. I’m standing up.”

  Pop’s suntanned face stretched into a broad grin. “Well, how about them doggies?”

  “Yeah, how about ‘em,” I said, and grinned right back at him, broken heart and all.

  Part Three: The Winnowing Field

  Contend, O Lord, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me. May they be like chaff before the wind, with the angel of the Lord driving them away. --Psalm 35:1, 5 (NIV)

  Chapter Nineteen

  I called Remy’s favorite after lunch and arranged a formal appointment for Saturday night, just two days away. It would’ve been nice to go in with more than me and Eric, but who else could we call on? At least I’d have a little mobility by then, though that wasn’t much help against the fully functional, lightning fast reflexes of a mature pet.

  And I was pretty sure we’d be facing a small army of pets. Remy would be a fool not to have his entire stable in attendance, not after word got around about what Eric had done to Oriana’s stable, and no vampire controlled the territory Remy did by being an idiot. Kyle had promised to spread the word for us, as a possible deterrence against retaliation. Eric said Mike was, too. A few well-placed words would be enough to ensure we were treated with a lot more caution.

  Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing, but it was what we had to work with.

  The country’s independence wasn’t the only one we celebrated that day, though I was probably the only one who viewed it that way. I was still confined to my chair. My legs were too weak to hold my weight for long. I was fucking determined that situation wouldn’t last any longer than it had to. Every half hour, I wobbled up and down the hallway between the front door and our bedroom, Eric tucked under one arm, Pop or Ma or Charity under the other.

  On our fourth trip, I stumbled over my own clumsy feet and nearly took Eric and Charity down with me. His firm hold on my waist was our saving grace. When we were all upright again, he murmured, “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “I need to be ready for this weekend.”

  Charity leaned way back and looked up at me. “What’s happening this weekend?”

  “We have a meeting,” I said, and left it at that. Nobody else needed to be dragged into our drama, especially not my kid sisters.

  I took a nap mid-afternoon, then went right back at it, up and down that fucking hallway every half hour, Eric on one side, my hand scooting against the wall as a second balance. During our last walk before supper, I sagged against the wall between the first and second entrances into the living room. “Maybe you were right.”

  Eric eased my arm off his shoulder and mirrored my pose, facing me with one shoulder against the wall. “About what?”

  “I’m pushing it.”

  “It’s what you do.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned my temple into the wall, so tired, every muscle in my legs screamed at me to sit the fuck down. “Why do you have to be so goddamn accepting all the time?”

  “You know why.”

  Yeah, I guess I did. “I kinda like this.”

  “What?”

  “Me standing, you shorter than me. It kinda restores the natural order of things.”

  “Oh, ha.”

  I didn’t need to see his scowl to know it was there. His disgruntlement shot through our bond straight into my brain. Hey, could I help it that I was a good eight inches taller than him? “Runty Boy.”

  “I was wrong,” he said. “Now you’re pushing it.”

  I laughed and hauled him close and kissed him right there in the hallway where anybody could see. Fuck it. Pop might never understand, but he didn’t have to. Eric was mine, and I was damn sure not going to let him forget it again.

  Ma outdid herself that night. Ribs on the grill, enough sides to feed an army, cake and ice cream and a strawberry pie. We ate outside around the picnic table she’d gussied up with a plastic, red-and-white checkered tablecloth and citronella candles. Di refused to join us, as she had since that night Eric had put the smack down on her. She ate inside, and I was happy to have a family meal without her constant sniping spoiling our fun.

  She didn’t even come outside for the fireworks. Her loss.

  The rest of us sat in lawn chairs facing Crookston and enjoyed the view. Near the end, Eric’s hand slipped into mine under the cover of night, and I remembered something that should’ve occurred to me a helluva lot earlier. We hadn’t had full-contact intercourse since before my legs quit working right. It had been months since I’d been inside him or him inside me. Heat roared through me and my dick sprang to life. Oh, yeah. We were going to remedy that as soon as we could slip away.

  I took a bath that night. Not such a big deal in and of itself. What made it special was being able to get into and out of the tub on my own. If my legs had been stronger, I would’ve taken a shower. Hell, I would’ve taken ten, but my muscles had deteriorated since I’d lost the ability to use the lower half of my body. What was left wasn’t all that strong.

  That was fixable, though. Weight lifting, running, hell, even climbing the stairs would help rebuild muscle bulk and tone.

  I scrubbed off and washed my hair while Eric propped up in bed fully dressed, reading a book Ma had picked up for him at the library. I got out and dried off on my own. Brushed my teeth without needing hands to reach what I couldn’t. Ok, so I had to sit on the closed toilet lid while I did it, but what was that compared to my newfound freedom?

  It soared through me, lifting me into unending joy. I had no idea why I could feel my legs now, had absolutely no clue what had changed during the night, and I didn’t care.

  I shambled into the bedroom bare ass naked, leaning hard on the wall and chest of drawers, and scuffed each foot forward along the carpeting, one shuffling step at a time.

  Eric glanced up from his book. “Need help?”

  “I got it.”

  “Hmm.” He tucked a bookmark into the book and set it on the nightstand. “You’re wobbly.”

  “Yeah, wonder why.”

  “Touchy.”

  I stifled the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but just barely. “Turn the covers down.”

  He slid off the bed and flipped them back. “I need a minute, then we can go to bed, if you’re ready.”

  Oh, fuck, yeah, was I ready. I lurched from the chest of drawers to the nightstand and finally collapsed onto the bed, my muscles shaky, my skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I swallowed hard and willed my pounding heart to slow its rapid fire patter. “Take your time.”

  He eased into the bathroom, shut the door, and I stared up at the ceiling, imagining the night ahead. Shit. I should’ve had him run upstairs and get my supplies out from under the loose board in my room, where I’d hidden them since I was sixteen. I didn’t have the patience right then for most of the toys. I was too desperate for my lover, but the lube would’ve come in handy.

  I closed my eyes and drifted into fantasy. Eric on his hands and knees on the bed, me sinking into his tight ass one agonizingly slow inch at a time. Heat throbbed through my groin, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I threaded my fingers together over my stomach and relished the artificially cooled air blowing across my skin, the crisp cotton sheet under me, the lingering hint of Eric’s woodsy aftershave. Maybe I’d push him down onto his stomach and fuck him that way, or I could…

  Eric walked into the bedroom carrying two towels, not a stitch covering his slender form.

  “What’re those for?” I asked.

  “Tonight.” He set the towels down on the nightstand and thumped one finger into a plastic tube resting on top of them. “Thought we might need this.”

  I eyed the lube. “Where’d you get that?”

  “I bought it the first time Kathy took me into town.”

  “You bought it…” I scrubbed nervous palms over my face. “How did you know?”

  “I know you, Jase.
You live for sex. Seemed kind of obvious you’d want to be with me tonight.”

  “No, I mean, how did you know…” I paused, unsure how to explain what I meant. “About my legs. That they’d be ok.”

  A slow smile stretched his sensual mouth. “I know you.”

  Yeah, maybe he did, or maybe he just believed in me. “Come here.”

  He crawled onto the bed and braced himself above me. “How’s this?”

  “Closer,” I whispered. “I need you.”

  “Yes.” He brushed his mouth across mine, once, twice, and his erection rubbed into my stomach, gliding across my heated skin. “I don’t think I can wait to be in you.”

  “Then don’t. Tell me what you want.”

  “You.” He sighed, and his minty fresh breath feathered across my lips. “I know what you think, that I don’t like sex with men.”

  “You don’t.”

  “That’s not quite true, Jase. I enjoy you.”

  Something tickled my mind, and a laugh wheezed out of me. “Christ, Eric. You like fucking Marco.”

  A faint flush spread across his alabaster skin. “For God’s sake, don’t tell him.”

  “I can’t believe it. You’ve been fronting this whole time.”

  “I just always thought of myself as pure het.” He shrugged and dipped his face into my throat, nuzzling it. “Obviously, I’m not.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “I can feel how much it hurts you when I struggle internally with my sexuality. I know you’re picking up on that, and I know you’re translating it into a misguided notion that I don’t want you. I do, Jase, I really do.”

  “You hesitate every time you have to feed from another guy.”

  “Because I’m picky about who I have sex with, not because I hate the sex. I love you.”

  “I know.”

  He nipped my skin, and his touch shot straight down into my dick, feeding the fire bubbling up within me. I hissed in a breath. Christ, that felt good.

  He pulled away from me, grabbed a towel, and spread it out in the middle of the bed. “On your stomach, now.”